


Oh god a title

by bastackmuhas



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Can I put characters in the tags that haven't been written into the story yet?, Dream Smp, Fae & Fairies, Fluff, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Inspired by some events on the Dream SMP, What rating is cursing?, What the hell am I doing?, Why is there no Wilbur Soot out there? Do y'all know something I don't?, Wilbur Soot is the MC, Wilbur is literally off with the fairies, drown in the dandelion fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:21:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28498227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bastackmuhas/pseuds/bastackmuhas
Summary: Who knows where the story leads? Certainly not I.This is Wilbur Soot's POV, Instead of ghost, he's turned fae. I'm loosely following the Dream SMP wars, with lots of artistic liberty. Mostly, look forward to cutesy Wilbur.Take a sample.The fireflies were lovely. Little floating stars you could cup and dance with. They liked to hide in my hair, and in the pond’s reflection, it looked as if my curly locks contained the whole night sky.
Kudos: 7





	Oh god a title

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, please read this.
> 
> In this work, I won't be using real names or gammer tags. The names I come up with will be subtle references. Character ages, descriptions, personalities, and abilities will probably be the same. 
> 
> When I wrote this, the story I had in mind was more inspired by Dream SMP, than based on it. What this means for you is that all my references to the people/events it's inspired by will be less like a rainbow pointing to a pot of gold, and more an Easter egg hunt. 
> 
> This also means that someone who has never heard of the Dream SMP, or the characters it contains, would still be able to enjoy the story. I'll be building the characters from the ground up, no assumptions on prior knowledge made. 
> 
> But fear not, loyal Dream SMP fans! This won't be boring for you either. Those "in the know" will get to enjoy the mystery of what parts of the cannon story I kept, what I didn't, and what I fabricated entirely! yaaaay. 
> 
> In all seriousness, I will be making constant little winks, hints, and tongue-in-cheek references to the real people. Like I said before, I want this to be an Easter egg hunt for you. Enjoy it, pick it apart. I promise there will always be more than two. 
> 
> See what you can notice.
> 
> oh, and as always, tell me to take it down and I will. :)

My pale dragonfly wings buzzed softly from where I hovered. Tentatively, I extended a hand, my long pointed ears twitching encouragingly. The young bird hesitated, its brilliant blue feathers shivering. He teetered on the edge of his nest, his small feet grasping the ledge. Down below, the little bird gazed at the great roots of his tree. The ground was very far, surly deadly. From his perch in solid safety, the distance felt all the more formidable. 

_Impossible,_ I’m sure the bird thought to himself. 

It wasn’t impossible. The gentle oak tree had housed generations of little birds just like him. The remains of their nests still constructed and nestled inside the oak’s branches. 

The little bird couldn’t afford to hesitate much longer. His siblings had already left him, his mother had already flown. It was only him now. Life demanded change, and the little bird’s time had come. I was sure he could hear it, the same whisperings I heard. His wings extended slowly, lured by instinct and longing.

A small hop, or perhaps he simply let go, but one moment he was still, and the next he was dropping. His wings beat unevenly. I darted down, following his descent. 

He fell slowly, his small body and extended winds fighting for that small miracle. To his young mind, the fall must’ve been a long and stressful one. To me, he fell for perhaps a moment. The moment was crucial, a metamorphosis. Suddenly, the winds’ words were transformed into a language he understood, or maybe it was he who changed. Like a leaf in an autumn breeze, he fluttered and flew, rejoicing in his new freedom, his calling fulfilled. 

I smiled softly and descended to the ground, pushing a stray lock of sunset pink hair from my face. It was curly today, wavyer than normal. It splashed and bumped and curled and bended wherever it pleased. I supposed it was celebrating the bird’s success, as I was. 

I glanced up into the sky, where the young bird fluttered joyfully. His freedom was long awaited. He was the last of his siblings to leave, but he was clearly the one who anticipated this moment the most. The one I caught contemplating the ledge far before he was ready; far before even he knew what that ledge represented. Perhaps that was why I was especially fond of him. 

The moment seemed bittersweet to me: over too quick, the colors too bright, the joy too sharp. 

Like my first flight. 

I shook my head. I hadn’t meant to think it. My brow furrowed, a little spider tumbling from the movement, there was something else tugging my thoughts. I couldn’t pinpoint what. 

My back sunk into the ground, my arms splayed to either side. Sunset had come, bringing with it the reds, oranges and pinks of night’s beginning. Was this wistfulness, that I was feeling? Nostalgia? 

No, I decided. There was something else there, something deeper. A little cavern in my mind, one I hesitated to explore. Have always hesitated to explore. I feared what I would find within it’s darkness. What monsters lurked within me? 

I gazed listlessly into twinkling stars, as if they held the answers to my inner contemplations. I had sunk too deep, I realized, into my cavernous mind, if stars were visible already. 

I stretched and sat up, allowing my smushed glossimer wings to extend into the cold evening air. Was it evening? When did evening become night? The grass shifted beneath my feet. I wiggled my toes into the cool blades with a smile. 

Night was one of my favorite times, tied only with sunrise, morning, noon, and sunset. The air was fresh and kissed lightly against your nose and cheeks, and the breeze liked to nip at your fingers. I tucked mine safely in my arms, where she couldn’t reach. The fireflies were lovely. Little floating stars you could cup and dance with. They liked to hide in my hair, and in the pond’s reflection, it looked as if my curly locks contained the whole night sky. 

Most wonderful of all, however, was the sounds of night. A dance wasn’t possible without music, and the night always hummed the most splendid of melodies. It was a symphony; crickets calling out in chirping notes, accompanied by the occasional booming hoot of an owl. Then the breeze would come and shake the very leaves into a swishing harmony to twirl with the other soft sounds. 

My eyes fluttered open, I hadn’t realized they closed, and a giggle escaped me. It melted into the night’s song like the sun to the earth. So pleasant was the experience that I giggled again, and again. Cool air swallowed my chuckles as I sent them floating into the night. 

Another breeze rustled the trees and licked up my shoulders. I gasped with delight and watched as gooseflesh sprouted on my arms. A gust, it caught my wings and blew me into the air, where I went tumbling. My ears twitched. I righted myself, pulling a mouse from my hair where it caught and clutched desperately. Fearfully. I was an unexpected disturbance to her sleep.

“Sorry,” I whispered, setting her into a vacated burrow, where she would hopefully stay undisturbed for the remaining duration of the night. 

I straightened and shook a finger at the moon, the sky, the wind. My expression was reproachful. I understood what they wanted, but they needn't be so pushy about it. 

With a huff, I swung around and darted over to the roots of the great grandfather tree. A different tree from the one before. He was my favorite tree. The largest tree. I liked to think he was the first, the tree which started the forest. Every tree under him was a child or a grandchild or a great grandchild. His wide thick branches, extending in every direction, were simply there to embrace his ever growing family. To protect them all. How wonderful to have a family like that. 

I fell into the warm embrace of his mossy roots, imagining myself as another one of his kids. An adopted one, lovingly cherished. My mind sank into the welcoming fantasy, imagining an old man smelling of soil, grass, and foxes. It was darker under his embrace, hiding me from the watchful gaze of the moon. Like he had pulled a warm blanket over my head, giggling behind hands pressed to mouths, shushing each other as the nanny stomped in annoyed impatience. 

Nanny?

But the thought was faint and fuzzy, like sediment drifting down the river, swirling with other floating things. It settled, and then was buried, forgotten in my slowly drifting mind. Sleep claimed me like the kiss of a floating leaf on a river rock.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> :)


End file.
